


Those Other Boys Don't Know How To Act

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's not the only one who knows how to party with the karaoke machine ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Other Boys Don't Know How To Act

Sam wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. He was fairly certain that running was a good idea, but his path to the door was blocked. Besides, Dean was sure to notice if he made any move toward the exit. Even drunk and covered in scantily clad college co-eds, Dean tended to be hyper aware of his position. Sam had already tried to leave twice, and both times Dean materialized out of the crowd, grinning like a lunatic, and hauled Sam up on stage with him. He shuddered at the memory.

And the night had started out so … okay, not _well_ , but normal at least: another successful hunt, another greasy meal at the local diner, another bar in which to unwind. And yeah, it was a karaoke bar, but Dean had taken one look at the female to male ratio in the place and practically shoved Sam into an empty seat.

“Just try and give me a few minutes warning if you’re gonna do your Don McLean impression again, dude,” he’d muttered into Sam’s ear. And before Sam could protest that it had been _one time_ after about a _dozen_ tequila shots and a particularly bad hunt, Dean was gone.

A moment later, Sam spotted his brother pressed up against the bar on the other side of the room, two fingers held up as he ordered the first round. He kept his mouth shut when Dean returned, but he made sure to slowly nurse the beer his brother brought him, making it last through Dean’s first four bottles. It was a pace he had been careful to maintain for the rest of the night—not that he was expecting a repeat of Framingham or anything.

It was just, you know, better sober and safe than shitfaced and sorry.

Of course, that meant that, three hours later, Sam was sitting at their table basically stone cold sober while Dean swayed on the stage, draped with three halter-topped blondes and a brunette in a leather mini skirt. She was wearing leopard-print panties, and Sam really, really didn’t want to know that.

Looking back on it now, Sam knew that he had only himself to blame, since he’d been the one to goad Dean up onto the stage in the first pace.

It was just that Dean had been about three beers past wasted and extremely suggestible. And he’d spent the night being such a goddamned bastard about Sam’s brief run-in with a karaoke machine in Framingham. Sam had wanted a little revenge, which wasn’t all that unreasonable, considering what he’d had to put up with.

Seriously, how was he supposed to know that the girls in the audience would decide that Dean’s drunken crooning was just about the best thing since sliced bread? That they’d pull his brother up on stage with them when their own turn at the mike came up? Or that Dean’s normally selective musical standards would be tossed out the window at the prospect of rubbing up against so many soft bodies?

It had been amusing at first—Dean and Madonna: not really a combination Sam had ever pictured—and then, with the rousing rendition of _Hit Me Baby One More Time_ , embarrassing. Sam still didn’t know how the hell Dean had managed to keep singing while practically screwing that girl on the stage. Couldn’t figure out why they hadn’t been thrown out on their asses for lewd behavior.

There was a sudden, sharp squeal of feedback from the microphone as the girls wrapped around Dean introduced the upcoming song. Giggles as they dedicated it to their new friend ‘Ian’. Catcalls as the brunette dragged Dean’s head down for a kiss that looked tonsil-deep. Then the music was starting, and … yeah.

Sam dropped his head down on the table, snorting laughter into the spilled beer and crumpled napkins. Forcing himself to calm down a little, he fumbled in his pocket for his cell. He was possibly a little drunker than he’d thought, because he was having trouble operating the phone.

As he finally figured it out and pointed his cell toward the stage, Sam decided that the evening wasn’t a total disaster after all. In the morning, when Dean had sobered up (and gotten over the worst of his hangover), Sam was going to arrange a showing of this little home movie. His big brother didn’t know it yet, but he had made his last karaoke joke at Sam’s expense.

Grinning broadly, Sam watched in the viewfinder as Dean gyrated his hips and sang, “ _Go ahead, be gone with it/ Let me see what you're working with/ Go ahead, be gone with it/ Look at those hips!_ ”

Blackmail was a beautiful thing.


End file.
